


100mph on a dirt road running away

by squash1



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Angst, M/M, Nightmares, cabeswater being creepy, post-trk, some might be tempted to call the OOC police but bear with me please, sometimes healing hurts a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-02 00:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15785640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squash1/pseuds/squash1
Summary: “This is one ugly ass car, you know that?”Ronan’s voice may be laden with his usual snark, but Adam notices that he is not reaching out, not touching or embracing him. Apprehensiveness isn’t something Ronan sports very often.“You okay?” Adam asks.





	100mph on a dirt road running away

**Author's Note:**

> i swear i'll finish my multichap wips at some point in this lifetime.
> 
>  
> 
> this is unbeta'd and proofread only once by an absolute fool (myself). ye've been warned.

_When Ronan slips into the dream, he is resting on the same couch that he fell asleep on. Cabeswater’s vines coil around Ronan’s calves like he imagines a handful of serpets would, their grip on his flesh strong and persistent. The air in the living room is thick with the scent of greenery as Ronan breathes in its dampness. The vines glide and curl with determination, not really squeezing but binding him nevertheless. Logically, he knows that this is a dream – the real Cabeswater is dead and gone. The real Cabeswater, uncorrupted, would feel different._

_The real Cabeswater would also most likely not have barged through the front door without any warning, ebbing and flowing for the first few moments of the dream – so quietly, so naturally that Ronan hadn’t even paid it much attention as he lounged by the fire in the sitting room. Nowadays, more often than not, his dreams take place in a perpetual autumn – decaying leaves on the porch, on the BMW, in a pile in the orchard with Opal gleefully diving into them, or swirling around Adam and himself as they stand wrapped up in each other somewhere in the forest stretching out and up the mountains behind the Barns. All of it, a vague, slow symbolism of endings and beginnings.  This dream feels different. The presence of Cabeswater suggests urgency, makes Ronan feel as though his subconscious is hastily manifesting change._

_Ronan groans and pushes himself up fron his reclining position on the couch. The vines have curled around his knees, sprouting strange, rust-coloured flowers around his bare ankles. “Fuck,” he growls, swatting a hand at the twining green. “Get the fuck off me!”_

_“Go,” the vines whisper back to him in Latin. A cool breeze blows over his face. The front door must be open._

_When Ronan looks up from his legs, he notices more than just Cabeswater’s vines surrounding him. The wall of the sitting room that is connected to the hallway is covered in moss and leaves and branches, and they are slowly making their way towards the futon Ronan is lying on. The forest is reaching out to him, and Ronan wonders briefly if this is what it was like for Adam, back when the real Cabeswater was still alive._

_“Why?” he asks, pulling at the vine creeping up his left thigh._

_“It is for the best,” the forest hisses, and suddenly the vines race up his forearms, slinging themselves around his torso, and start pulling. Ronan falls to the floor with an unceremonious ‘_ oof _’, which momentarily puts a stop to his racing heart._

_“What the fuck?”_

_He scrambles to his feet, but the vines won’t let go of him and pull him back to the ground, tightening and thickening around him. “Go, go,” they say, rumbling thunderously now. He thinks he can see a dark figure in the window looking out onto the back porch, but before recognition can sting him, the forest has fully engulfed him and his vision turns to black._

_-_

 

Ronan wakes to a thumping heart and an embarrassingly damp pillow. He can’t feel his legs yet, but he is quite certain that the vines from the dream are still slung around his calves.

_Go. It is for the best._

The echo of Cabeswater’s whispers doesn’t quiet until he arrives at Boyd’s, overpowered by anticipation. He needs to get something off his chest.

 

-

 

After working on the same old Chevy for the better part of his shift, the ache in Adam’s muscles burns with every pull of a wrench, every tightening of a screw. The scorching Virginia sun has set, and Adam welcomes the breeze sieving through the open garage doors and chilling his sweat-soaked skin. The cool air provokes goosebumps to form, and for a brief moment Adam allows himself to relax the tension in his shoulders, giving release to the sigh he has been holding back all afternoon. July has been merciless as always.

The distant rumble of an engine cuts through the late night silence, peaking Adam’s interest. Tonight, he is the last one working at the garage. The last one apart from Boyd himself, whom Adam knows to be asleep in his chair by the front desk. “Wake me when you’re done,” he said earlier when all the other employees had left and Adam remained, one of the few mechanics at the auto shop who didn’t mind working late into the night. It’s his last summer before college and he really, really needs the money.

Adam checks the clock on the wall behind him. Almost eleven. The Hondayota is parked neatly out front, but Adam can’t help but wonder if Ronan is coming to pick him up again. For the past few weeks, more often than not, Ronan has shown up near the end of Adam’s shift, at first parking across the street and waiting for Adam to notice him, and more recently slamming the driver side door shut in an announcement of his presence and walking over to where Adam is working, nudging his foot when he is lying under a hood, or running a hand through Adam’s sweaty locks in greeting. After the first couple of times, Adam thought he might become annoyed at the interruptions, but really he is glad for it. He wants to soak up all the Ronan he can get whilst he can.

What was once a faint rumbling of an engline has risen to a distinct roar, and Adam is able to identify the vehicle it sounds from. All alone in the garage, Adam allows himself to smile, the predictability of it all at once pleasing and comforting. It’s not long until the beasty BMW rolls up in front of the shop, grinding to a halt against the rough asphalt. Adam sets down the wrench he has been clutching on to and wipes his hands on an old oil rag, rubbing until they’re red and raw.

“You’re fucking them up even more, Parrish,” Ronan says as he walks towards Adam’s work station.

“Then dream me some more lotion, Lynch,” Adam answers dryly.

A mischievous grin forms on Ronan’s face. Now that he has stepped into the harsh light of the garage, Adam takes in the state of him. His cheeks and nose are red from the sun, his tank top looks worn out and his jeans are muddy. The urge to reach out and pick a stray piece of hay off of his shoulder becomes irresistible.

“Been working out in the fields again?” Adam asks, throwing the dirty rag onto a nearby work bench before reaching out and dusting the back of his hand over Ronan’s shoulder, sending the dry blade sailing to the ground. His eyes follow Ronan’s hand as he lifts it to place atop the garishly orange colour of the pick up truck in Adam’s work station, fingers rapping gently against the metal of the hood. Ronan hums affirmatively.

Adam is going to miss him so much.

“This is one ugly ass car, you know that?”

Ronan’s voice may be laden with his usual snark, but Adam notices that he is not reaching out, not touching or embracing him. Apprehensiveness isn’t something Ronan sports very often.

“You okay?” Adam asks, loosening the knot of the coverall sleeves tied around his waist. The breeze has picked up, and a nagging voice in his head tells him to cover up before he catches a cold. Ronan keeps his eyes fixed on the car, nails scratching at the varnish. Adam shivers, almost cringes at the screeching sound of it.

“Nightmare?” he tries again, placing his own hand atop of Ronan’s. Adam knows he should go wash up first, but he reaches up to snake an arm around the taller boy anyway, pulling him close. Against him, he feels Ronan exhale curtly before his ribcage expands again and he takes a deep breath. Ronan smells of earth and hay and sweat. Adam can’t think of a more comforting scent. Silently, he hopes this embrace to bring Ronan a similar sort of relief. When Ronan’s arms wrap around his shoulders in an almost bone-crushing manner, Adam considers it solid evidence for his theory.

A few moments pass until Ronan loosens his grip, and Adam tilts his head to press his lips against his jaw in a small kiss.

“Come on, get in the car,” Adam says, pulling the zipper of his coveralls up to his clavicle. He is working the morning shift tomorrow and will have plenty of time to finish up with the truck then before its owner is scheduled to pick it up in the afternoon. Another glance at the clock tells him that his shift is over anyway.

Ronan protests, holding Adam closer again and burying his face in his sweaty hair.

“Gross,” Adam says at the same time as a laugh contracts his lungs, making him stumble ungracefully over the word.

“Never,” Ronan murmurs into the damp mess atop Adam’s head.

On a different day, Adam might have managed to persuade Ronan into waiting for him by the car whilst he tidies up his workspace, but not today. With Ronan only a step behind him, Adam gathers his bag from his locker and tells Boyd goodnight. Out in the parking lot, Ronan swings himself into the driver’s seat and turns the ignition before Adam can properly fasten his seatbelt, letting the engine roar to life. For a moment, he considers asking Ronan what he dreamt about. Ronan pulls the BMW out of the lot before Adam can open his mouth, its growl intercepting his train of thought. Instead, he regards Ronan from the passenger seat, illuminated only by the strips of street light above as they pass over his face one by one.

The silence that befalls them becomes too much for Ronan to bear, as evident in the thrumming EDM that bursts through the speakers as soon as he punches an offended knuckle against the radio. He does show mercy for Adam’s good eardrum, however, and turns down the volume so the music is nothing more than an ambient _thump-thump-thump_ ing. After that, Ronan seems to relax, loosening his tight grip on the steering wheel and resting his left elbow against the rolled-down window, languid and at ease.

They’re a couple of miles out of Henrietta when Ronan lightens his tread on the gas pedal. Adam steals another glace at him from the passenger seat. Ronan’s buzzcut has grown out a little and bunches up strangely against the leather of the headrest. His mouth is relaxed, Adam notes, lips slightly parted, and his eyes are fixed on the road, a tired expression weighing down his eyelids. The sudden stutter of Ronan’s chest rising takes Adam aback; the exhale that follows sounds almost like a sigh.

“You ever run away from home when you were a kid?“ Ronan asks, and Adam has to take a moment to process the question. Has he?

When he was eight or nine or ten. Adam can’t remember when exactly, his childhood in the trailer park is not something he _wants_ to remember – it comes back in dizzying flashes, though, in dreams and in accellerating heart rates. This memory does, too. Middle school Adam Parrish, gangly and long-limbed, pedalling his rusty bike home after his last class of the day and promptly deciding not to take the left turn that leads to Antietam Lane but to keep treading until he reached the edge of town. _You are now leaving Henrietta, VA_ , a large sign with navy lettering told him, _Come back soon!_ When he was younger, and even a year ago, the second sentence on the board bothered him every single time he passed it. He never wanted to come back. He wanted to leave, to escape, to run away. But he was only a boy, and instead of pedalling on until his legs gave in, Adam imagined the _Population 24,704_ inscription on the flipside of the sign, the _Welcome!_ side, changing, a _3_ pushing upwards and slotting satisfyingly into place. About half a mile later, he halted his bike and turned around, racing home to make up for lost time and hoping that his dad was running late as well.

“Nah,” Adam says through a clenched jaw, “Why?”

Ronan looks uncomfortable, his gaze is fixed tightly on the road that spills out in front of him.

“Feels like maybe I shouldn’t be here.”

They pass the Singer’s Falls city limits without turning up the winding road leading home.

“ _Ro_ –,” Adam says softly, trailing off as his eyes drift warily to the leather bands on Ronan’s wrists.

Quietness fills the car, nothing but quietness and Ronan’s shitty music. Then, three simple sentences.

“It’s not that. I don’t know,” Ronan says, runs a hand over his hair. “ _This place_ , you know?”

Adam hums in affirmation, hoping that will coax more information out of Ronan.

“I put all my hopes and expectations in this place, I –”

Both of his hands are on the steering wheel, grip tight and desperate. “It’s not how I thought it would be. Even Cabeswater knows it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Parrish,” Ronan says through gritted teeth as he pressures the gas pedal into passing an inconspicably silver sedan, “That it fucking sucks. And then I dream about how much it sucks, which makes it suck even more.” He reaches into the backseat and pulls something to the front of the car. Adam doesn’t immediately recognise it, but once he touches the wilting strings now laying in his lap, he understands. They are buzzing with Cabeswater’s energy. Adam can still sense it, and suddenly feels a painful pang of loss in his chest.

“Cabeswater’s way of telling you that you’re holding yourself back?”

“More like telling me to get the fuck out.”

Adam hesitates. He wants to ask: What do you want, Ronan?

He keeps his mouth shut, but makes a point of tracing his index finger down the length of Ronan’s forearm, elbow to wrist.

“I get it, you know,” Ronan grumbles. “Why you want to leave so badly and never come back.”

A pause weighs heavily between them. Adam feels daring and sneaks his finger underneath Ronan’s wristbands, pressing against his pulse point. It makes sense that the BMW isn’t the only thing racing precariously fast. _I’m always gonna want to come back_ , Adam thinks.

“I can’t stop thinking about my dad either.”

_Oh._

Niall Lynch is a quite frequently discussed topic for them, Ronan preferring to bounce ideas and speculations about dream magic and energy sources off Adam rather than mulling over his abilities alone. Not like this, however. Not once has Ronan spoken of his father in a way that wasn’t accented with grief or admiration or both. Not until now.

This, Adam identifies, is resentment.

“So you want to leave the Barns?” he asks, not sure which answer he is hoping for. Adam knows that he wants Ronan to be happy, however or wherever that may be. He wants him to be able to be happy and not have his past cling to him, uncomfortably and melancholically so. Adam’s heart also longs for college, and success, and financial stability. Most of all, it longs to be okay. And for Ronan.

 “Yeah. No. I don’t know.”

Adam pulls his hand back into his own lap.

“You just gave me every single possible answer to that question.”

“I wanna make it my own.”

“We can do that.”

Adam’s heart surges as he sayss this, anxiety pumping through his veins. This is laying his heart bare, it’s choosing Ronan over his principles. It’s choosing his future over outrunning his past. Love is weird to him in that way, puzzling how it turned his priorities off-kilter, merely by adding itself to the mix. The past year has changed them all. Adam still wants to leave, but he now finds himself looking forward to coming back, too. It seems as though Ronan’s stubbornness is developing similarly.

For a second, Ronan seems perplexed. Then, he grins that stupid, gorgeous grin again and Adam would like nothing more than to kiss it off his stupid, gorgeous face.

He doesn’t. Because crashing at this speed would be deadly and spontaneity is another byproduct of Adam’s personal growth. He wants to see where Ronan is planning on taking them.

Adam would go anywhere with him.

“You hungry?” Ronan asks, hoarsely.

“Yeah,” Adam says. An admission. Growth.

“You know what?” Ronan starts, lifting his hand from the stick shift to clasp down on Adam’s knee in a tight grip, “Me too.”

The warmth of Ronan’s palm seeps through the fabric of his coveralls and stirs something other than hunger deep in Adam’s his inner thigh. They pass a sign indicating a rest stop five miles ahead and advertising a twenty-four-seven diner. Ronan will have to shift down into fifth soon, but Adam allows himself to relish in the electric feeling of his touch for a few beats more before sliding his own hand over Ronan’s.

 

-

 

“You know,” Adam starts, mid-bite as they are sitting in a greasy booth of an even greasier diner, then swallows. Ronan lifts his head to look at him over his burger. Adam’s hand crosses the distance between them yet again, this time wiping a smear of ketchup from the stubble above Ronan’s lip. “Some wise old dickhead once told me that the future might not turn out exactly how you thought,” he continues and Ronan grins toothily, “But it’ll be just as good.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> listen, ronan gets to heal from his trauma. ronan gets to be okay and not have to desperately cling onto his childhood home. ronan gets to keep the barns as something special but he gets to feel good about exploring the rest of the world too. cabeswater knows all this, obvs.


End file.
